Final Farewell
by Rhetorical irony
Summary: What happens when regret is the only way with which to say goodbye? Everyone has regrets, some just run deeper than others.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Neither Spyro nor Cynder belongs to me, they belong to Activision yes? (: **

**Pardon me if you find that I have taken liberties or changed the characters' personalities somewhat. This is my first time on Fanfiction, and I wanted to experiment to see if I could give these two main characters a different ending together, instead of the classic happily forever after. So yup! Constructive criticism is welcomed, but no flaming! And if you don't like this, then don't read it!**

**Having said all this, enjoy! (:**

Final Farewell

Spyro was silent, even as he felt Cynder's gentle gaze on him. He was restless, literally bored out of his mind. All he wanted was out from this cave, so that he could fly, hard and fast, and be back home as soon as possible. But shelter was shelter, and the rain which had started mid-morning did not seem to show any intentions of letting up soon. He held his breath, counted to three silently, and turned around abruptly.

The black dragoness jumped, as her companion turned so suddenly to fix her with his sharp amethyst gaze. She had seen so many different emotions in those eyes before, curiosity accompanied with wide-eyed innocence, flashes of anger and fire, calm acceptance. She had not even realised that she had been staring at him for such an extended period of time, until he had turned to face her, amusement glinting in those purple depths.

The purple dragon picked himself up from where he had lain himself, and slowly made his way over to her side. She lowered her eyes and ducked her head in that characteristic shy way which made him certain that had it not been for her black scales, spots of red which already be dancing across her cheeks.

"You wanted to speak to me?" He smiled good-naturedly, squelching down the sudden burst of laughter which threatened to burst through his façade. He almost felt sorry to be teasing her like this, but he was in sore need of entertainment, indeed, _any_ form of such would do, or he feared he would go mad. He had spent most of his life on his feet, alert and ready at a moment's notice for either fight or flight; it felt distinctly uncomfortable for him to be lazing around like this, with nothing on his to-do list. To top it all off, rainy days were not exactly his favourite, either.

Cynder blushed harder, as he settled down next to her, and kept his head turned to her. The expression on his face was one of expectance, rapt attention, as though he was expecting her to say something. He was all geared up to play the part of an attentive listener. Her mind drew a blank. She did not know what to say.

The purple dragon understood her dilemma. He grinned, "Let's play a game. The two of us shall take turns to ask a question each. All answers must be true, or cross your heart and hope to die." Cynder was silent, as she contemplated this suggestion. Why not? She had nothing to do anyway. "Fine," she agreed.

She watched him almost nervously. She hoped it would not be anything too difficult for her to answer.

"Why were you staring at me?" He turned to her, a light smile teasing his fine features. Cynder blushed. So he had seen her staring, even though she had turned away as quickly as she could, her heart hammering in her chest. She struggled to steel her nerves, "Well…"

"Yes?" The purple dragon _was _curious; Cynder had never really struck him as the ogling type. But then, she had not exactly been ogling, just staring… Even though he was not sure just how much of a difference that makes.

"I hadn't been staring on purpose," that shy ducking of her head which indicated that she must be blushing again, "I didn't even realise what I was doing until you caught me in the act."

She risked a peek at his expression. The purple dragon almost looked thoughtful. "That's all?" he tilted his head questioningly.

She hesitated. Then, "Yeah, that's all there is to it." Followed by, "Hey, you said _a _question. That's two!"

The purple dragon chuckled, "All's fair in love, war and interrogation."

Cynder could not help but smile back. The truth was, she had not been entirely truthful. She _had _been staring, at least, until she zoned out. Which she did not do often, period. That was the power of rainy days, per se.

"My turn then," she smiled. Spyro nodded his consent, "Aye."

The male dragon could not help but stare at her as she went through her thought processes. He loved the adorable way she would sometimes scrunch up her face when she could not think of an answer, the way she would curl and uncurl her tail repeatedly, like a cat deciding whether to bite.

"When you were pulling the world back together," she paused, as though considering how best to continue, "Did you hear anything?"

He was silent for a while. "Oh, that I did," he said sweetly, "I heard lots of things."

He saw the anxiety on her face morph into surprise, "_Lots _of things?"

"Yup," he smiled, "I heard the thunder as the land masses moved together, the swish of wind, a cacophony of voices. Very loud, they were. Pretty much drowned out anything softer. Why, was there anything you expected me to hear?"

He watched as the surprise on her face gave way to defeat and disappointment. It hurt him to see her so forlorn. All he could do was wince, "Cynder?"

She snapped to attention, "What? Oh. Is it my turn now?"

They spent the rest of the day exchanging questions, but somehow, along the way, the spirit had leaked out of the atmosphere, trapping them in this soundless bubble where the only sound they could hear was their own breathing.

The former Terror of the Skies could not sleep, even though she was sure that it was late. The downpour had ended only just before evening, and all that remaining time before night fell, they spent it hunting for food. No more questions had been exchanged, and she was glad for the respite. The thing was, Cynder had not known whether she could carry on either. She had mustered up all her courage to tell him those three words that truly mattered, but he had not heard. He had not.

She did not think she could do it again. Spyro was saviour of the world, and despite his tender age, he had managed to balance the weight of such hefty responsibility on his inexperienced shoulders. Not a mean feat it was, and she knew that he would get the attention and rewards he duly deserved when they arrived back at Warfang.

Warfang… It would have been her home had fate dictated otherwise. If not for Malefor, she and her companion both would be at the academy now, reciting history in Volteer's classes, learning basic battle moves from Terrador… But this was not to be. Instead, fate had led them both on paths so twisted, so different, which she had no doubt, led to different destinies entirely. Their parting was inevitable.

He was a hero. But she was only his companion, the former Terror of the Skies, who had caused many of the obstacles which had blocked his way like boulders on a narrow path. If not for her, his job would not have been as hard, and that was the main point, was it not? Even if the dragons back at Warfang accepted her, which she knew was highly unlikely, they would never be able to erase all their doubts about her. They would never be able to accept her as their own, without looking at her face and her paws and remembering the blood she had spilled, how easily she could kill them all in cold blood. She would know, would she not? So many times she had stared her own reflection down in a pool of water and pondered the same thing.

Warfang was his home. Not hers. Not now, not after everything she's done. She turned to face the purple dragon, who was sound asleep beside her, his breathing even and slowed, his chest slowly rising and falling. Her heart ached at what she had to do next, but she knew it was necessary. They had made good speed the past few days, and she knew instinctively, that they would reach Warfang by afternoon next day, or at most, at night. She had waited for as long as she could, to try and find a way to either dispel, or confirm her worst fears. But now it seems, the latter had been realised.

Gently, she stood up on all four paws, and turned so that she could face him. "I know what your biggest regret is," she said softly, "It's Ignitus, isn't it. You wish you could have saved him too, just as you saved our fracturing world and everyone else, don't you?" She shook her head softly, "But it isn't your fault, Spyro. No one is perfect. Everyone errs sometimes. That's life. It was Ignitus' time to leave. He would not have wished to see you so heartbroken over his absence." She paused. Then slowly, she lowered her voice to a mere whisper, so soft that she appeared to be speaking more to herself than to her sleeping friend, "My biggest regret was that I had not spoken up that day, at the centre of the earth. This is a truth I choose to offer you, so that you would understand what I have to do next. I can't go back with you, Spyro. Without you, I'm nothing. But you don't need me the way I need you."

She knew it in her heart for this to be true. Every word she spoke struck a chord within her, tugged on a heartstring to offer a resonating note, an echo so pure and true. She leaned down, and landed a gentle kiss on his snout. Just a light touch, the slightest brush of her lips. He did not even stir. He must still be tired from having to pull everything back together. She stroked his face lovingly with a paw. "So this ends here, and now," she whispered softly, "I'm sorry. I will not be the anchor that weighs you down. I refuse to be. I owe you that much…"

Her vision painfully blurred, she turned and walked out of the caves. She hated to leave him like this, but he would understand, she was sure. He would.

She did not look back, even as she spread her wings such that her dark scales reflected the moonlight like a polished mirror, even as she took flight.

By the time he wakes up the next morning, she would already be far, far away. She would make sure of that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Helloo. I'm back. XD And yup, as you can see, I decided to do an extension. XD**

**Woohoo. I know no one wants to read anymore angst, but I am **_**pissed **_**today. **

**The last paper in a long line of exams lasting two weeks, no less! And I screwed it up. Shucks.**

**I need to let off some steam.**

**Okay, I probably shouldn't complain. Exams are over! This calls for a celebration! XD**

**Would it help if I promise that this isn't going to be the ending? XD**

**Oh yes, and no flaming! Constructive criticism is always welcome though! If I'm lacking in any areas, do tell me. I don't **_**feel **_**very coherent today.**

Chapter 2

Terrador found himself staring out into space, even as Cyril continued on about his royal lineage, muttering something about "royal blood" and "Terrador, are you even listening?"

"What?" he blinked to clear his vision, and turned his attention to the egocentric Ice Guardian, "Oh, sure. Of course I am."

Cyril snorted. A puff of cold air, curled like tendrils of smoke, snaked lazily into the early, still chilly, morning air, "Of course you are. A penny for your thoughts?"

The Earth Guardian had zoned out again. Cyril sighed. The two of them were teethering precariously on the roof, and beneath him, Cyril heard the roof shingles click warningly under his claws. He wondered just how he had gotten himself into this mess.

Oh yes. He had been trying to move out of range of Volteer's motor mouth, before he saw Terrador up here and decided that a roof would be as good a hiding place as any. After all, while Volteer might be capable of speech at the speed of lightning and possessed a range of vocabulary rivalled only by a thesaurus, he lacked the common sense which guided the actions of most other dragons. He would never think of looking _up_. His head was filled with nothing but trivia and air, but then of course, not everyone was of sensible birth like he, with such defining qualities as a proud member of his species and his promising future as a leader like a certain distant ancestor, going back so many years...

Terrador sighed, the sound rattling the shingles under their massive build. Cyril cursed softly, as he tried to regain his poise and balance, having been jolted out of his reverie by this unwelcome disturbance. Madness, this was. He had to get off soon...

Chuckling, Terrador huffed, "Having fun, Cyril? What was it that you were saying?"

_Dang._ He had heard him swear. Cyril suppressed a strong urge to roll his eyes, "Nothing, old comrade." Gingerly, he padded to Terrador's side, sticking his head out, attempting to follow Terrador's line of sight.

There was nothing of interest to him at first glance, and he had started to open his mouth to question Terrador when he spotted something moving at the far end of the gardens. He squinted. Old age and astigmatism were catching up to him, fast. From his line of view so high up, the moving spot looked to be a blob of purple (which he had previously thought to be a geranium) with a tail, four paws... He blinked to make sure he was not seeing things.

"Spyro?" Cyril sounded shocked, "What is he doing in the gardens? Did he spend the night out here? Is this why he wasn't in his room when Volteer sought him out in the morning for training?"

Terrador looked startled for a moment, and then laughed, in that characteristic baritone voice, "Peace, Cyril. The young one is hardly committing a cardinal sin..."

The initial laughter in his voice soon gave way to melancholy, sadness. Cyril wanted to ask what he meant, surprised that militant Terrador would be standing on the youngster's side after he attempted to skip elemental – military! – training, before the green dragon shot him a warning look.

Cyril allowed his jaws to snap shut with a faint click, noting with disdain the same look Terrador always shot Volteer to let the Electricity Guardian know that he was talking too much and way too fast, feeling more than slightly mortified that Terrador had thought to treat him the same way as he would said motor mouth... This was it. He would take care to spend more time away from Volteer from now on... He did not need any more of his fellow Guardian's royally unacceptable habits rubbing off on him...

The purple dragon moved nary a peep, not allowing even a twitch of his tail.

The water remained clear. Spyro tried to focus again.

An image popped unbidden into his mind, the way Ignitus always held himself still when he looked through the Pool of Visions, intent on Seeing through the mist which always clouds the uncertain future... He had seen Ignitus do so often enough. He had been sure that he could just as easily do so.

But while he may be destiny's chosen dragon of legend, fate had not chosen to grant him the same gift it granted his late mentor. No matter how hard he tried, the water always remained still. Unperturbed. A clean, flawless, imperceptible surface.

Where was she?

He had not been able to sleep, nor had he cared to try to. Ever since that last night she abandoned him, alone, in that cave...

_"Spyro, your place is here. Your destiny is here. But mine is still somewhere out there, for me to find..."_

That sweet, lone voice resonated through the lonely night, the cloaking, eternal darkness of his dreams...

It hurt. It hurt, a lot. To be able to see her only in his dreams, only to taste the bitterness of defeat and despair over and over again... It was pushing him to the end of his tether.

Ever since Ignitus' untimely demise, her presence had been the beacon of light in his dark tunnel of despair, the line of hope which reeled him back to reality, the gentle caress which guided him forward, and gave him strength to carry on.

_"There is always something worth fighting for." _

But as he had to find out the hard way, that losing something so important to him hurt much more than never knowing it in the first place. Letting go was inevitable, but it was the hardest thing he had ever needed to do. Without her, he was unreeling, the threads of sanity holding him together coming apart at the seams. Undone.

Nothing was happening. It was not working. The water stubbornly refused to show him anything, not even the flash of sunlight on obsidian black scales. His vision misted over, even as he felt the sensation of failure stabbing at him, even as he felt his heart tear again, just when he thought it was no longer possible to hurt him anymore than he already had to bear...

He roared, a heart breaking declaration of pain and torment, even as he swiped his tail angrily, violently at the innocent, transparent swathe of water, sending up a splash which stung his face, so cold, like a slap.

His reflection wavered and broke into an indefinable mess of blurred lines and boundaries, like shattered glass coloured brightly, in all its majesty and frailty.

He could almost hear her voice once again, ringing in his head, even as he imagined her laughing, clapping her paws delightedly at this description. She would have loved the way he compared water to glass. She had always loved word play. He would have to take care not to let this inspiration slip, so that when he finally found her again, he could tell her so.

_'Tis is glass, it breaks._

Just as a reflection can break and a heart can bleed, the threads of destiny unwinding as fate catches up to all of us.

Coming undone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Yes! Third chapter's finally up! And yes, Cynder is in this one! 3**

**It's been so long since I updated, I know. Finally got the time to! Yay!**

**The amount of homework coming in for me the past few weeks was… Three of my teachers had to go away for immersion. So they've been rushing like mad to cover as much content as they could before they leave, which unfortunately, also equates to a hell lot more homework dropping into my lap. **

**But I'm an optimist. So I looked at it all as a farewell present from them, yeapps. (:**

**Okay, I should stop being so random. As usual, reviews are always very much appreciated. :D (Feel free to criticise. Or point out any awkward points; I'm sure there will be some lying around.)**

* * *

Chapter 3

"Flame," he heard a teasing voice come from behind him, "Aren't you supposed to be on duty now?"

The red dragon with scales of a colour befitting his name, turned around to face where he thought the voice had come from, "Ember? Is that you?"

He saw a familiar pink dragoness walk towards him, and heard give a derisive snort, "Who else?" Those light blue eyes glinted with mirth and suspicion, even as she whacked him playfully on the arm, "Are you shirking duty again? Flame, if Father catches you, you are going to be in such deep trouble. You know that!"

Rubbing his sore arm, he gave her a cross look, "Look here, sister, here's where you start going wrong. First off, no, I'm not supposed to be on duty as yet. Secondly, I'm not shirking anything! Father has postponed the patrol until the wind eases off a little. I don't fancy spending the rest of the day flying off course while guarding the borders of the village and trying to right myself." Glaring at her, the red dragon huffed, "Don't you have anything better to attend to besides skulking around me and picking on every little thing I say or do?"

He was rewarded with another whack on the arm, "Hey! What is that for now?"

His sister gave him an odd look, "Since when do you get to do the guarding? Last I checked, the elders were the ones in charge of that while _you _were supposed to be mapping the eastern areas. Or have they suddenly reshuffled the duty slots? Hmm?"

Flame scowled. He hated to admit it, but she was right. Young dragons his age were usually allocated some other job rather than the _actual _guarding, reason being that they were still young, they lacked experience. As their father often said, it was a job which required style and expertise, and they had none. But that had not stopped Flame from conjuring up a mental list of achievements which he would no doubt accomplish one day, when he became qualified for the job. He could already see it in his mind's eye… He would take on a dozen of those filthy apes which often ventured a little too close to their tiny village for comfort, and then he would emerge victorious. And all the females at the Academy would be swooning over him… Ah, the fame and glory…

Ember rolled her eyes. Judging by the dreamy look on her brother's face, she could tell that he was probably stuck in one of his ridiculous daydreams again. Probably one of his visions regarding how he would save the entire village from a horde of evil monsters, armed to the teeth to boot. She knew how highly he thought of himself, but frankly, she did not much agree with him. It was not that she was being supercilious or unsupportive, but she did not think that he was as good a fighter as he seemed to think he was….

Putting on her signature smirk which she knew her brother absolutely detested, Ember continued in a loud voice, blatantly intruding in his reverie and snapping him back to attention, "I'm your sister. That's my job. Someone has to keep the misfit I call a brother in line, and that's me. After all, I _am_ the older sibling."

Flame blinked incredulously, and then proceeded to glare at her, "Hold on a second there! Since when have you been eldest?"

That superior smirk again, "Since I was born, darling. We may be twins, but I did hatch out of my egg first."

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did what?"

Flame jumped in surprise.

In front of him, his sister's smug expression was wiped off her face immediately. How, it was his turn to smirk while she stuttered, trying to answer the question, "N—nothing father. Flame and I were just talking, about, uh, some genealogical issues."

The older adult, who had been standing behind the both of them until they had turned around, looked fairly amused, "Just talking? I was almost convinced that the both of you were ready to fight it out."

Ember opened her mouth, as though to rebuke their father, and Flame picked on exactly this moment to jump in. For two reasons, mainly. One, depriving his sister of her turn in any sequence of events annoyed her to no end, and it was precisely this which never fails to amuse him; and two, because he knew he would eventually have to get involved judging by the way things were going, and he had no desire to deal with that. Besides, it was not as though he had nothing better to do. Sibling rivalry could wait.

"Can we set off now, father?" Flame interrupted, "Or do we still have to wait some more?"

His father inclined his head to acknowledge his comment, "Peace, Flame. We will have time for all that. We will set off now, if Iala declares the wind conditions favourable."

Iala was of the same age as Ember and he, but her element was wind, and she was in an advanced class for her age. Not only was she consistent in her studies, she was also a homely dragoness, with scales a shade of blue which resembles green when light falls on it at an angle, and eyes the colour of cornflowers in the field in spring. Flame respected her as a fellow student at the academy, but he did not fawn over her the way some of the other dragons always seemed to.

"What are we waiting for then?" Flame grinned, "Let's go!"

* * *

Cynder narrowed her eyes. The sun was setting, and the clouds near the horizon were bathed in a swathe of crimson. The deep colour fanned outwards, painting the sky a myriad of colours, of a lighter red, then gold, then faded yellow. Night was falling fast.

From high up, those forest green eyes skimmed over the landscape. Uncertainty gleaming in their depths as she hoped against hope that she would be able to find something she recognised, anything familiar at all. Light from the setting sun played off her scales teasingly, painting a burst of jewelled colours, of different shades of crimson, of dull golds and greens.

But there was nothing. She knew she ought to feel disappointed. But she did not. Somehow, all along, she had known that this would happen.

All she felt was numbness, a cold, unrelenting emptiness inside of her, which refused to abate. It was as though when she had left Spyro, alone, she had left a piece of herself behind too. And no matter how hard she tried, she could not take it back.

It had been the same story ever since the last few days. Spyro's piecing of the world back together had drastically altered the landscape. Before, Cynder could have sworn, the direction she was flying in would have long since taken her back to the prison she once called home. _Concurrent skies._ But now, all she could see was miles and miles of treetop canopies and leaves, and the occasional glade and pond. Even her eyes were getting weary of all that green.

But now, her keen eyes combed the landscape, eager to find the slightest sign of trees thinning out which would indicate the presence of a glade nearby, the promise of rest for the night. There were no mountains nearby where she could seek shelter in a cave. A patch of soft, flattened patch of grass in a glade would have to do.

She beat her tireless wings, the wind currents she was riding on propelling her flight forward. And then, almost like an illusion, a patch of flat green entered her line of sight. Twisting in the air, not even bothering to slacken her speed, she collapsed her wings and allowed herself to drop from the sky.

All she could hear was the moaning of the wind all around her; all she could feel was the invisible currents parting to let her through, if not somewhat unwillingly, stabbing pricks of pain on her skin, its icy fingers caressing her face but yet failing to catch her in its invisible arms as she cut deftly through the air.

Once, alongside a familiar purple silhouette as she engaged in a spinning dive, she would have felt boundless exhilaration at her recklessness, of being able to stare danger in the eye without the slightest trace of fear. For even in that deadly gamble, where the penalty to pay for a faux pas made was death, she had a tether to tie her to safety. Like a fantastical dream spun from the gossamer threads of imagination, his presence was a song which carried far into the lonely night, whispering smooth promises of comfort and companionship.

He was her guardian, her knight in shining armour. He would never leave her, never let her fall from grace again.

She had not wanted to be alone ever again. Her childhood had been shadowed in darkness, and she had had no one to rely on but herself. To all outward appearances, she was a tyrant, a coldblooded murderer. But inside, she had always been a child forced to grow up too fast, who knew next to nothing about the cruelty that surrounded her. She was a murderer, yes, but even the killer had been a victim of circumstances.

And yet here she was, alone once again with barely a flicker of emotion to stir her heart, but this time, by her own choice. How ironic.

He had given her an irreplaceable gift, his heart a lantern to light her way as they journeyed through the dark, and this she would always cherish. To everyone, he was a saviour.

But more importantly, to her, he was her friend.

It was no fault of his that she had chosen to leave him. From whence they had met, he had been reluctant to leave her behind. He had always tried his best to make her feel at home; but that was just how he was. He would give his all for everything which he stood for, without complaint, without regret.

He had tried to show her what it meant to be on the other side of darkness, that there were days when it would rain, but afterwards the sun would always shine more brightly. Like a child who had seen his favourite toy, he had been determined to hold on to her, to never let her slip through from between his claws. But like the wraith she was, she easily teased herself out from between hairline cracks, almost unseen, but always there, like those found between the threads of faded tapestries.

It was no fault of his that the thin thread which once bound them together had to be broken; for she was the one who had sliced it cleanly through with her ivory claws. Like an ingrate, she had cut the tether which had served her well once, the tether which had held her out of harm's way. But this was to be expected, was it not? She was a shadow, silent and invisible, nothing but a faint outline. The rest of it was all simply pitch black darkness. And what cannot be seen should never be trusted.

With grace and elegance born from endless hours of training, of striving for precision, perfection, accuracy, and efficiency, she thrust out her wings, slowing herself down just before she touched the ground. With her wings outstretched mid-flight, spread out to its maximum span, she was a magnificent creature to behold, if not somewhat distant, almost untouchable. She landed lightly, unfazed, barely stirring up any dust from under her feet.

She had barely folded her wings behind her back when she heard something. Her fight-or-flight instincts, honed by a lifetime of combat training and fighting, were on full alert now, her muscles all bunched up tight. Utterly silent and still, she would appear to any onlooker to be nothing more than one of those shadows, which were often seen flitting from tree to tree under the fading rays of evening light.

Perhaps that of a light-footed elf, who most thought to exist solely in stories told to younglings to coax them to sleep at night. But there were always hard-core believers who still insisted stubbornly, that on cool twilights they could be found dancing across glades and grass, leaving behind nothing more than the occasional footprint, a trail of darkened green which stood out against the lighter green of the grass.

Or perhaps, it was just a trick of the light.

There. There it was again. Voices on the wind. And they were getting louder. Cynder risked a fleeting glance up at the clear sky, but there was no use even thinking about making a quick escape; they were just too close. Anyone would see her if she took wing now. But she was not naïve enough to believe that they would just accept her presence; while she did not know yet who she was dealing with, she did know that some species could get awfully territorial.

Slowly, careful not to alert them to her presence, Cynder stepped daintily behind a stand of trees, where she knew she would blend in. She had spent most of her life as a creature of darkness, hiding behind shifting shadows. There, where no one would think to check, she would blend in seamlessly, while she waited. And watched.

* * *

Flame felt a prickling sense of unease, even as he treaded his way through the dense undergrowth. Ember may be irritating, as siblings go, but she was still his twin, and he could not help wishing that she was here, with him. But of course, he would never tell her that. He would never hear the end of it from her if he did.

He could not shake the feeling of being watched, no matter how hard he tried. For the umpteenth time, he paused in his footsteps, squinting as he peered hard at the nearby trees, trying to discern perhaps, a dark figure from the shadows?

On the other hand, Iala, who had been paired with him, had already turned off the original path they had been travelling on, frowning in concentration as she tried to look at the map in her paws at different angles under the rapidly diminishing light. It was no use. None of the original landmarks exist anymore. It was strange, really. Almost a week ago, the dawn patrol had ventured out only to find out that they were utterly lost trying to traverse land which should have been so familiar to them, after all the years they had spent here. But no.

Instead, they had found themselves flying over an alien landscape, convinced that they were trapped – for some unknown reason – together, in some twisted nightmare. The other patrols which came afterwards had had to explore and map prominent landmarks, which miraculously surfaced overnight, on top of their other duties ever since.

Of course, all this were only arranged after the aforementioned dawn patrol had calmed down enough to relate what had happened to the rest of the incredulous villagers.

On the bright side though, the apes stopped coming around at about the same time. Good riddance, to be sure, and everyone was glad of it even if no one seemed to know what had happened to them.

"Flame? I think we should go this way. Flame?" Iala stopped. There was no response from the red dragon who was _supposed_ to be behind her. Turning around, she almost screamed in frustration. He was gone. Again. Probably left behind somewhere far back. At this rate, they were never going to make any progress.

And any progress at this stage was essential, for the next dawn patrol needed all the information they could give them. "Not again! I swear, when I find him…" the dragoness lashed her tail angrily as she stomped back the way she had come from.

"Flame!"

Said red dragon jumped, "Iala! Wait, listen, I—"

The wind dragoness snarled, cutting into his sentence halfway as she took slow, deliberate steps towards him, "Have you forgotten that we are part of the twilight patrol! We need to explore these areas as thoroughly as we can, before we have to go back! And we have barely covered any ground! What are you trying to do?"

Flame swallowed nervously. For every step she took, he tried to take one back, all the while trying his best – and failing – to pacify the enraged female, "But I didn't do anything!"

Something inside Iala snapped, "Precisely! So you've finally realised what the problem is!"

Determination dogged her steps now, and there was a cold look in her eyes which gave him the shivers. The fire dragon tried to back away again.

And then, he felt his back connect something hard. One look to the side told him that he had backed himself against the trunk of a tree. He groaned in despair, _Oh no! This is it! _One look at the angry dragoness who was stalking him with a vengeance told him that she agreed with him._ I'm done for._

The blue dragoness noted with grim satisfaction this rather advantageous turn of events – for her, that was. She would teach him the importance of having a sense of urgency and some time management, if it was the last thing she did today.

Her gaze drifted slightly. And suddenly, a movement on the far side of the trunk which Flame was pinned against snagged her attention. A flash of green that was gone so fast she wondered if she had truly seen it. She frowned. Never one to dismiss her instincts as pure overreaction, she knew something was wrong. And she had to find out what that was.

Flame saw her gaze drift off slightly for a moment, and he knew she was staring at something right behind him. His blood froze in his veins, _By the Ancestors, it's not behind me, is it? _

When her gaze next connected with him, Flame could tell that something about it had changed. He could not read dragons the way his sister could, but there was something less threatening about her stance now; at least she did not look as though she was bent on seeking vengeance anymore.

Iala stopped when she was right in front of him. He stared back at her. Those mysterious eyes were veiled; Iala was a hard dragon to read, even for his sister. She did not speak aloud, but for a split second there, he saw her lips move, _work with me. Please._

Before he could respond, she had pressed the flat of her tail blade against his neck, her voice raised in consternation, "You are coming with me! Right now! No more distractions!"

Flame jumped. He almost could not believe her tone. _Did I just imagine that? _She had just gone from demanding and threatening to calm and collected and back again, all within the span of a few seconds. _Females! Why are they so capricious?_ Ember could be like that sometimes too.

Iala almost rolled her eyes as Flame stiffened up at her sudden move. He looked so uncertain, his gaze wavering between fear and confusion. _Moon and stars, he doesn't know the first thing about keeping up an act!_

* * *

The night had almost entirely fallen.

Cynder found herself cloaked in total darkness, her obsidian black scales camouflaging perfectly into the background. She had been shocked at first, to discover that those voices had belonged to dragons, and among them, two so close to her own age. _I thought Spyro and I were the only ones left!_

And it was those two who she decided to follow, after the dragons had split up.

One of them, the male, was red, probably a fire dragon. Cynder noticed that he stopped several times, to glance around him, with a wary look on his face. _This one is more keenly aware of his surroundings. I'd better be more careful. _

However, the other one, the female, was more of an enigma. Her scales were a bluish, greenish colour, which was not exactly turquoise; Cynder did not have a name for it. She did not seem to be all that aware of someone watching her, but then again, she had her head buried in that strange piece of parchment she was holding. Her scales were of a colour Cynder had never seen before, and the black dragoness found it hard to be sure just what element she was proficient in.

When the red had last stopped, the female had not seemed to realise. Instead she had simply marched off on her own. At a passing glance, Cynder had caught sight of some weird squiggles and finely-drawn lines on the parchment, which seemed to be a map, but it had been too dark for her to make out anything other than that. _Are they lost?_ On the other hand, the male had not seemed to notice his companion moving further and further away either. Cynder snorted softly. _So much for being keenly aware of his surroundings._

But now, getting stuck behind the tree which the male found himself backing into had not been part of the plan. Cynder knew she could not afford to panic, or make any sudden moves. She knew the female was advancing; she prayed that her dark scales were doing enough to camouflage her. Standing on her hind paws now, the other two pressed against the trunk for support, Cynder tried to make herself seem as small as possible. She did not want to invoke the command she had over the shadows; sinking into one would seriously impede her range of vision, and besides, she hated the disembodied feeling of being inside one.

Still, she had been watching the scene with avid interest; the enmity with which the female treated the male amused her. It reminded her of the quarrels she and Sparx often had.

_Sparx. _Cynder winced. She wondered how the dragonfly was doing now, how his foster brother was doing. She wondered if Spyro was sleeping well, eating well. She wondered if he missing her as much as she was missing him.

The female's gaze suddenly drifted. Snapping herself out of her reverie, Cynder suddenly realised, to her utmost horror, that the former's eyes were focused on her.

Cynder felt her adrenaline spike. Before she even knew what she was doing, she had already forced herself into a shadow. Trying her best to ignore the free-floating sensation she currently found herself subjected to, she realised that there was a very crucial question she had to answer, _now what?_

Iala made sure to walk slowly, as she positioned herself such that her back was facing the tree where she thought the intruder was hiding. Flame looked at her, more than a little confused. It was getting hard to see each other in the fading gloom. And he knew they were going to be in big trouble; once the elders come back, only to find that they had not done anything, they were toast.

"It's getting dark,"Iala said in a strangely loud voice, "Can you give us some light, Flame?"

The red dragon looked at her, confused.

Iala removed the tip of her tail blade from his neck. Pressing it against his face, she gently tilted his head so that he was looking at the tree where he had previously been backed against.

"Can you give us some light, Flame?" she echoed again, her head cocked a little to one side to see if he caught her meaning.

Now he understood. Immediately, He opened his maw to release a torrent of red-gold fire. Iala ducked out of harm's way, and proceeded to stand beside him now, feeling the intense heat of the flames wash over her scales. She winced. There was no way the elders would miss that.

The light from the fire banished any lingering shadows, revealing all that was behind for everyone to see. And see they did. Iala's eyes widened.

A dark presence shot out behind the trees, her wings pressed tightly against her sides to propel her momentum. Her emerald green eyes shone with what Iala easily recognised as fury.

It was a dragon.

* * *

**Author's Note (cont.): This chapter has "procrastination" stamped all over it. Yes, I'm slacking like mad, trying to fix all the mistakes I can find. And there's this homework list glaring right at me. **

**I've got to learn some self-discipline. **

**Okay regarding this chapter: I just thought I better post this before I lose my nerve. It took up 13 solid pages on Microsoft Word! (It took me this long just to get my point across and come up with something intelligible. Gosh, this is bad.) I'm almost amazed at myself. I've never been so long-winded in my life. **

**And yeapps, for the next chapter there will most likely be a fight (?) This will be my first time attempting one of this sort, so if you find that the next chapter is substandard; do drop me a review with a list of all the silly mistakes I made. Yes, I can already predict that there will be a lot. Lols. (But this also means that the next chapter will be long in coming too. Because I'll be spending a hell lot of time editing it. Sorry about that! .)**

**So be prepared. Don't say I never warn you (:**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Ahhhh I'm finally back oh my gosh it's been so long….**

**AND I have to declare that my school is evil! (or is this a general phenomenon? :D)**

**It's a long story, but simply put it runs on this program that allows us to skip the GCE O-Levels.**

**That should be good news right? BUT NO. Turns out that my school syllabus is supposed to be harder, that's why they couldn't let us take O-Levels! (Call me an idiot, after being in high school for four years I only realised this now) GAHGAHGAHGAH. Never thought I would say this, but I wished I could have taken O-Levels instead /:**

…

**I should stop ranting.**

**Ah well, at least it's all over now.**

**Anyway I'm hoping to post more often now, seeing as how I have a lot more free time to write (or type, if you want to be anal about it) but seriously…. My brain cells are fried. I haven't been able to think straight for days /: If I make lots of mistakes here, do point it out! Or if you want me to change anything. Writer's block sucks. Which probably explains why I've been switching around both of my stories, trying to type something which makes sense and not quite succeeding? **

**MUST. REGENERATE. ALL. MY. BRAIN. CELLS. ARGH. **

**Oh yes, and because I can finally slack and thus have too much free time on my hands, I shall cheer for anyone with upcoming tests and exams! Yay! (I admit, it's nice being anonymous! :D Don't mind me going a little crazy! Haha!)**

がんばって! 화이팅! :DDDD

* * *

Chapter 4

Terrador was ready to call it quits by the time he threw the map he had been holding down onto the table in frustration, startling the electricity guardian. Cyril simply smirked at Volteer's reaction, the latter shooting him a death glare, before he turned to Terrador, "Troubled, my friend?"

"That's saying the least," Terrador sighed, "Young Spyro has done much for us; indeed, all of us owe him our lives for saving us from what would otherwise have been cataclysm. But what he did has also changed the world so much so that none of us really recognise it anymore."

The elderly electricity guardian raised an eyeridge, "Oh? So you would rather we had all perished thanks to the ravings of a mad dragon? Is that it?"

Terrador blinked, caught off guard that Volteer should say what he did, "Of course not!"

"Then?" The electricity guardian demanded, "Ignitus gave his life for this, Terrador!"

The earth guardian did not rise to his challenge. Cyril too, knew better than to make any snide comments. Volteer was not an easy dragon to irritate. But once his ire was roused, there would be hell to pay.

The mustard yellow dragon was poised ready to give the poor earth guardian a piece of his mind for his careless remark. But suddenly, a knock came from the door, and whatever he had been meaning to say had to be put on hold, to Terrador's immense relief, "Terrador, it's Spyro. May I come in?"

* * *

When the earth guardian finally opened the door, the purple dragon was not even surprised to find out that all three guardians had gathered together late in the night, in Terrador's room, looking and acting rather secretively. Volteer swept all the scrolls on the table together into a heap, and Terrador led him to a cushion located halfway across the room, so that the purple dragon could not see what those scrolls and parchment contained even if he wanted to. Bitterness welled up inside of him. Ever since she left, something inside him had died; now he felt nothing, not fear, not surprise, not curiosity, not anymore, nothing but that bitterness, thick as syrup and just as hard to swallow. Why should anything else even matter now? He could not begin to imagine.

"Young Spyro, you were looking for me?" Terrador settled himself down in front of him, prompting him to speak.

"I was," the purple's voice was monotonous, nonchalant, "I had thought that all of you would be asleep, but clearly, that's not the case. Since all of you are here, I thought I might as well address all of you, save the trouble of running multiple trips."

Terrador felt a pang of pity and loss for the young dragon seated directly opposite of him; Spyro's eyes were blank, not carefully blank the way someone with secrets would try to hide what he knew, but blank the way it would be when the light inside is extinguished. This matter with losing Cynder had hurt him deeply, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Such a pity, that two such young lives had to be sacrificed for the greater good. Of everyone, they were the two who most deserved a chance at happiness.

Cyril seemed to have noticed it too, and it made him uneasy, "Speak your mind, young dragon. We'll hear what you have to say."

"You are leaving tomorrow to search the land for possible survivors from the war, perhaps even bring some of them here? The young ones? To this Academy? To study?" Spyro kept his gaze fixed on Terrador, even as he bombarded the latter with questions. The earth dragon fidgeted a little, uneasy. He thought he knew what was coming, and he did not like it, not one bit, "You see, Spyro –"

"I want to come with you," the young purple interjected. Terrador's spirits dipped drastically. He hated it when he was right.

"We can hardly refuse him," Cyril hissed, "Who knows what he might do if we push him too hard?" He sighed, "We owe it to him. And he knows that as well as we do."

Try hard as he might, Terrador was unable to find fault with his argument, and even Volteer could hardly disagree. "And I think we can all safely agree that he'll be more of a help than a liability should there be any danger," Volteer added, though looking none too happy about it.

The three guardians faced each other grimly. They hated to admit it, but it seemed as though they would have to let young Spyro go, whether they wanted to or not.

* * *

It was no longer a matter of _if_ anymore, Spyro knew, but a matter of when.

Terrador had to take him along when he left. He had no excuse not to.

He made a slow turn around the room, eyeing each nook and cranny. Really, even if he had to leave this place tonight, there would not be much he was leaving behind.

Cynder was gone. Ignitus was gone. And Sparx was gone, back to the swamp, to help rebuild whatever he could, mainly because he could not bear sitting around twiddling his thumbs and doing nothing but worry all day anymore. Spyro heard that there had not been much damage done anywhere, thank Ancestors, but for once, the dragonfly had gladly thrown himself right into the fray. The purple dragon had been surprised, but pleasantly so. So there was something that could gall Sparx into action after all. Even if he was not by his side, that was alright, Spyro supposed.

But even so, he could not help feeling terribly alone.

He knew that the Guardians were probably wondering how he could have known what they were up to. But they had forgotten; he was not who he was three years ago, back when Ignitus was still with them, back when he had not lost everything and yet had everything to lose.

Before Cynder had left, she had given him a crash course on the use of the shadow element. And he had been practicing.

After all, everyone knew that eavesdropping was best done in the dark.

* * *

"Terrador?"

The earth guardian turned, just as someone pushed open the door to his room and meekly peered in.

It was Volteer, who quickly stepped into his room, leaving just enough space for Cyril to squeeze in behind him.

The large green and brown dragon looked more amused than annoyed, "Hadn't anyone told you that you need to knock before you enter someone's room?"

Volteer guiltily nodded, "Yes, but your door was unlocked, so we thought…."

"We thought we'd pop in, check if you are done with your preparations," Cyril blurted out.

Terrador hesitated. Then he nodded, "Okay."

Volteer started again, his words flowing so fast from his mouth that it took Terrador some time for it all to register, "About just now…

"I'm sorry that I lost my temper. I had been overtly sensitive, and prissy. Ignitus's loss hit all of us, hard. I shouldn't have forgotten that you mourned his death, too."

Terrador did not respond for a while, partly because it took him some time to process everything he said, and because he needed time to decide what to say next.

In the end, he decided on the simplest response. After all, simplicity _was_ elegance.

He simply stepped over and gave his fellow guardian a light pat on the shoulder, "It's okay. I shouldn't have said what I did too."

Turning, he did the same to Cyril, "Take care of each other. I'll be back as soon as I can. Can the two of you handle everything here till I get back?"

The ice guardian puffed out his chest proudly, "You can count on me." A swift glance at the disgruntled Volteer made him add hastily, "Us."

Terrador chuckled lightly. His warm brown eyes shone with approval. He had no doubt that they could. Despite all their quarrels, Terrador knew he could count on them to work together when they need to.

"Well, it's getting late. I'll see you… Tomorrow?" Terrador gave the both of them a tight nod.

"Yes yes, most certainly," Volteer was nodding enthusiastically, while Cyril inclined his head gracefully to acknowledge his statement.

"The both of you should go first then… Do you have anything more to say to me?" Terrador's voice was quiet, his expression inscrutable.

Both guardians in front of him fell silent.

"Just… remember to come back, will you?" Volteer broke the terse silence, sounding somewhat subdued, unlike his normal bubbly self, "Bring young Spyro back with you too."

Cyril added, "Yes. We still have his education to think of."

Terrador did not smile, "Okay."

He watched as the two dragons, who had been his fellow comrades for as long as he could remember, began to file out of the room, Cyril carefully drawing the door close behind him.

It shut with a soft click, a note of finality.

Terrador stared at it for a time, unmoving. His eyes misted over suddenly, and he blinked rapidly to clear his sight.

"I'll miss you too," he said softly.

* * *

"It's time," Spyro remarked, staring into the far horizon, his gaze unmoving as he watched the first rays of sunlight sweep over the foreign land.

"Yes," Terrador agreed, "It is."

The purple did not turn, "You really want to do this? Leave without waiting for them to send us off?"

Terrador did not look at him when he replied, "This is what you would have preferred too, isn't it? No more goodbyes. Just go, and hopefully come back before so much time passes by that you do not care anymore."

Spyro understood what he was talking about. Terrador was a warrior, a fighter. He would leave, and he would return, victorious.

Or not at all.

Their numbers had diminished drastically, since Malefor's reign of terror. And they would die out, perhaps not now, but soon, unless by some miracle, they could succeed.

This mission they were going on was too important give up halfway. If there was any hope, any hope of them finding any survivors at all, they would take it. They had to.

The earth guardian lifted his head to the heavens, and roared his farewell. Bunching his haunches, he leapt into the air, his wings stretched out to their full span with the sound of wet silk snapping open.

"Ready?" Terrador turned to him, his eyes issuing a silent challenge.

With much less fanfare, the purple dragon leapt off from the lookout tower, to hover beside the larger dragon.

The two took flight, wings deftly cutting through the air as they headed in the direction of the rising sun.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to them, standing on top of the ramparts a ways off were two dragons, one a cool ice blue, the other an electric yellow, watching their two companions winging off into the unknown, two tiny spots shrinking fast as they made speed.

* * *

"Do you really think this was our best option, Cyril?" They yellow one spoke up, his voice unnaturally sharp, his speech to the point.

"I do. There are only so many goodbyes one can say, or take," the blue one replied coolly, "If you did not agree with me, why did you come with me? You could have gone up there, told them goodbye."

The yellow one did not reply. Then he nodded sharply, "I suppose…"

The blue turned then, and fixed him with a firm stare, "I'm done here. Coming?"

Without turning to see whether his companion followed, he leapt off the roof, and winged his way back inside the temple.

The yellow did not follow. He simply stared off at the distance, watching at the two spots disappeared in the distance, watching as the sun rose higher and higher up the sky, the white of morning washing over the streets of their once magnificent city, now reduced to a shadow of its former glory. Watching, waiting, until he was no longer sure what he was looking at, or supposed to see.

"Come back soon, will you?" The yellow huffed.

Leaping off the shingles then, he followed the path his companion had taken previously.

This was not their final farewell. He refused to believe it.

They would come back. And when they did, he wanted to be the first one standing by the lookout tower, to welcome them back.

He just hoped that he could wait until then.

* * *

**Author's Note (cont.): Wow. I'm not usually so longwinded.**

**But is it just me, or is it really that hard to say goodbye to people? I don't know. But I had a friend who migrated to Sydney earlier this year, and it was really, really hard to say goodbye. In the end, we just hugged and she left. She didn't even allow any of her friends to send her off at the airport. D,:**

**Bleargh.**

**But that's why I wrote this chapter like that, because I really didn't know any other more appropriate way for them to say goodbye. If anyone got better ideas, review! PM me! Or tell me through whatever method y'all want to use. Please? :D**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Adnarel, are you sure that was wise?" Lilia's voice drifted to him in the cold night air, concern tinged with the slightest of hesitation.

The red dragon spared a glance for her through those blue eyes, the colour of sapphires, as he stretched his wings out to their maximum wing span, trying to catch a stray thermal. Night had fallen not long ago. Already, it was getting colder and windier. He did not fancy having to fly around the rest of the village perimeter without the aid of air currents to glide upon. "Well, it was the only pairing which I could think of at that moment," the red dragon blinked, "Would you have done differently?"

The dragoness, of storm grey coloured scales, pondered over this. Would she have? In the end, she shook her head. "No, I don't think I would. It was the most reasonable pairing after all," she admitted.

His only acknowledgement of her confession was a grunt.

But Lilia could not shake the unease which plagued her, like slime clinging to her scales. No matter what she tried to do, she could not shake the feeling of impending disaster. Flame, like his name implied, was quick to anger, of an impulsive nature, more often acting before he thought it through. It reminded her of how dying embers could be rekindled to give fire, how quickly it could return to life given the right conditions.

But Iala, she was different. Self-assured and confident, most of the time at least, she was calm, single-minded, focused. She aimed for her target with deadly precision, and Lilia had never seen her miss, not once. She was Flame's polar opposite, and Lilia was convinced that putting them together was akin to an invitation for trouble. Lilia had never been the target of Iala's anger before—after all, she was her teacher, and after all's said and done the blue-green dragoness knew better than to show disrespect in any way—but she had seen before firsthand, the damage it wrought. Suffice it to say, the cleanup effort afterwards had been significantly less than fun.

Lilia turned her attention downwards, her eyes tracing the outline of the forest along its fringes. There was another thing she found strange, not that the change was unwelcome. "Don't you think that things have been quiet around here lately?"

"Quiet?" Adnarel raised an eye ridge, "How so?"

Lilia sighed, "Well, there have been no sightings of apes since a few weeks ago, haven't you realized? It seems almost too quiet." _Like __the __calm __before __the __storm_, she wanted to add in, but she kept herself in check and swallowed the words which lay on the tip of her tongue.

Adnarel shook his head, "I noticed." He said nothing after that, and Lilia wondered what he could be thinking. It seemed as though he saw no need to explain himself, like he expected her to know what he thought. Well, she did not, and it was getting on her nerves.

Wings stroked the air in front of them, startling them. Both dragons narrowed their eyes in consternation, ready for confrontation. And then a familiar face came into view, and both heaved an almost inaudible sigh of relief.

"Cutodiel," Adnarel dipped his head respectfully.

The third member of their party inclined his head in acknowledgement, "I assume that neither of you encountered any trouble trying to scour the perimeter of our village?"

Lilia shook her head in silent reply. Cutodiel nodded, "Good. Did any of you see where the young ones went to?"

Another brief shake of the head. Cutodiel smiled politely, "Well then. It's time we went back for them. Shall we?"

* * *

All Flame saw was a flash of green on obsidian, before something collided with Iala hard, bringing the both of them down in a flurry of limbs and tails. The blue-green dragoness screeched, the sound setting his teeth on edge. He found himself watching from the sidelines, stupefied, as the fight ensued.

"Stop it!" He heard someone cry out in frustration, before Iala threw her opponent off, getting onto her feet in one fluid motion, her claws digging into the mud underfoot for hold, her tail lashing, a defensive stance. "You'll pay for that," she hissed.

The red dragon got his first clear glance at the newcomer then. She was clad from head to toe in black scales, two ivory horns on the top of her head arcing gracefully upwards, four on the sides of her face, sweeping backwards in a lateral fashion. And her eyes, her eyes were a striking emerald; green intermixed with the unmistakable glossiness of panic. "Stop! I'm not here to fight you!" She tried again, and to Flame's surprise, he recognized her voice. She was the one he had heard speak just now.

He saw the blue-green dragoness's expression of suspicion. He saw her relax, a little, though she remained alert, ready to pounce or sidestep should the other choose to make a move against her, "Perhaps not. But what were you trying to do, spying on us? Who are you?"

He watched as the black dragoness hesitated, uncertainty tracing the contours of her frame, the angles of her face, as she stood her ground, pondering her next move. He watched her weighing her options, transferring her weight from one paw to the next, before she gave up and shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but whatever she had wanted to say was lost in the whistling of wind, the sound of flapping wings.

Flame's heart sank as he met his father's eyes, sapphire blue to his own earth brown. They were in trouble now.

* * *

"It's almost time. They'll be back soon enough," the light grey remarked gently, turning to face the pink dragoness standing beside him, her face set in grim determination.

Icarus nudged her. Ember shot him an irritated glance, "What?"

It was exasperating, Ember thought, the way he had been able to follow her or sneak up to her so quietly. Icarus was her best friend, whether in school or not, but he tended to tread so lightly that she would not hear him until he chose to make his presence known. It was, least of all to say, more than a little humiliating at times. Especially times like now, when all she wanted to do was to be left alone, in this clearing right outside their village, where other dragons stood around guarding the village entrance, or sat waiting with torches to light the way, to guide back home those on duty at night.

It was a habit of hers, to sit there and wait for her father or her brother to return from patrol, and the others had gotten so used to her presence there that they had long since ceased to argue the point with her. _It __is __not __safe,_ they had tried to warn her more than once, _you __should __be __waiting __for __them __at __home, __not __out __here._ But they never succeeded, and she never obeyed. Before long, they had given up.

Somehow, either someone had told Icarus, or the grey found out by some sleight of paw, and he had managed to track her here tonight, much to her irritation and his amusement.

"You're daydreaming," he teased, "again. Aren't there better ways to spend your time, now?"

Ember rolled her eyes, "It's not that, it's just that I feel better standing out here, waiting for them to come back." She could not deny the slight flash of irritation which heated her face. What was it to him anyway? She had not asked him to come, but come he did. And now he would not stop talking, or leave her alone.

Icarus eyed her quietly. Then he shook his head, "They'll be back. You'll see." He hesitated, before adding in slowly, "You need to trust them, Ember. It won't happen to them too, what happened to your mother. You need to believe that."

The pink dragoness froze, "What?" Indignant, she whirled on him, "Don't mention her! I told you not to mention her ever again!"

Icarus looked apologetic, holding his paws out to her in peace, "Ember, I didn't mean it that way. You know I didn't."

The pink dragoness glared daggers at him. The grey did not move away, but he came no closer, and the teasing light was all but erased from his expression. And then he dropped his eyes, a show of deference.

She sighed, "I'm sorry. I overreacted. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. You didn't mean it, I know." Her shoulders sagged, "But it's so hard to believe that she's already gone. Just… Like that."

Icarus did not speak again. All he did was to offer her a sympathetic pat on the back. Those evergreen eyes glowed almost eerily in the dark, as though with a light of its own. That was what Ember liked about him. He knew how to listen without comment, unlike most people who would try to comfort her with words that were spoken more to assure themselves that they have done all they could, that there was nothing more they could do.

All of a sudden, the torchbearers had all risen to their feet, the light from the fire throwing shadows wildly across the glade, sparks floating in the wind, alit in a ghostly dance. Ember followed suit, "What's happening?"

Nobody answered her.

From a distance away, Ember saw silhouettes, dark shapes, coming closer and closer by the second. She narrowed her eyes. Something was off, though she did not manage to put her claw on it until the faces of those incoming became clearer.

There was someone else with them, someone Ember knew was not from their midst.

* * *

Cynder could not help the anxiety which lanced through her, white-hot like scorching dragon fire. But she did not fear them, for she knew that they would not be able to lay a paw on her without her permission, outnumbered as she may be, and that made her bolder.

However, that did not make her any more eager to mingle with those of her kind. She doubted that this encounter would end with tea taken and pleasantries exchanged.

"Who are you?" The grey one spoke first. Judging by the arch of her eyes, the slender curving of her horns on her head, and the way she held herself, Cynder assumed that she was a female.

But her train of thoughts was abruptly broken as her words sank in. "What?" Cynder blinked in surprise.

_No __declarations __of __retribution to come __and __prices __to __pay, _Cynder was almost amused, _are __they __trying __to __catch __me __with __my __guard __down?_

That was not going to happen.

"She asked, who are you?" The young red dragon crossed over to stand beside the grey, in front of her. He was staring at her warily, as though afraid that she might pounce on them again any minute now.

"You are questioning me? When you attacked me first?" Cynder did her best to sound outraged and demanding, in an attempt to change the topic. Right now, she could believe that they really did not know who she was, and that had thrown her off. She needed to buy some time, to think of her next step. _If __they __did, __they __would __have __attacked __first, __to __secure __me __or __bring __me __down, __no __questions __asked._

But she _had _figured out that the longer her identity stayed secret, the better.

"You were spying on us!" The blue-green retorted caustically, meeting Cynder's gaze with her own smoldering one, "You're from that other Clan, aren't you? How did you find us?"

_Huh?_ Cynder raised an eyeridge at her, confused and surprised, _Ancestors, __they __really __think that __I__'__m __a __spy?_

Immediately, those present had tensed up, unmoving, staring her down. That was also when Cynder realized that she was surrounded; behind her was the forest (ignoring the smoldering stump of a tree and the blackened stripe on the ground which marked its progress, leaving ash and soot in its wake), and in front of her was a coordinated team of dragons ready to take her down at a moment's notice.

And crashing through foliage was not how she had planned to spend her night.

Cynder knew that she was trapped. With the newcomers in tow, there were five dragons standing in front of her now, the blue-green and the younger red flanking the row on either side.

A confrontation was _not_ the way she had wanted to start her new life.

"Look," Cynder protested, "I'm not who you are looking for, okay. Whoever you are looking for. I'm not!"

"So you say," the older red spoke up now, his voice low, baritone. It reminded Cynder of Terrador. Tears prickled the back of her eyes. She would give anything to be back there, with Spyro and the rest of the guardians. _Oh, __Ancestors, __what __have __I __done?_

"If you really have nothing to hide, then you won't mind coming with us, will you? A few questions, nothing more," the brown dragon standing in the middle spoke up now, his expression carefully blank. Those golden eyes startled Cynder. They seemed almost… welcoming. Not hostile. Like he was offering her his assurance. Cynder did not know why, but it felt as though she could _trust_ him. She, who rarely trusted anyone.

_Cynder, __you __dolt, _the black dragoness found herself thinking wryly as the dragons began to encircle her in preparation for take-off, _what __have __you __gotten __yourself __into __this __time?_

* * *

"Ember! You are not supposed to be here!" The pink dragoness rolled her eyes as her brother cried out in an overtly exaggerated manner. "Oh, please. Since when have I done anything I was told?" She grinned at him wickedly, until she realized that everyone else was silent.

The torchbearers had come forward, squinting as they passed the torches over the faces of those present. Ember gaped at the black dragoness standing in their middle. Certainly this was not a friendly visit, if the patrol had deemed it fit to "escort" her back her thus.

"Iala, you may leave. Flame," Adnarel motioned to his son, "Go back with Ember first. I expect that this will take some time."

The blue-green nodded, and took off. The younger red was less obedient however. Right then, he looked as though he would like very much to protest, but one glance at his father's eyes was enough to cow him into submission. Cynder wondered what that meant. She wondered what she would see if she happened to be on the receiving line of that command. Was this what having parents would entail? She should have asked Spyro when she had the chance to.

The pink dragoness with the sapphire eyes nudged the light grey beside her, "You're coming with us." Cynder watched as the three of them scampered off, the pink occasionally turning back to stare at her, like she was some mannequin to be ogled at. Cynder rolled her eyes. _But __this __is __better __than __being __attacked __and __sentenced __to __death __at __first __sight, __I __suppose._

"I trust that you can handle her, Cutodiel? Do you need you to stay with you?" The older red was looking at the brown with an expression of what Cynder was surprised to find out was deference to authority, _who is __he? __Cutodiel? __Why __does __his __name __sound __so __familiar __all __of __a __sudden?_

"I'll manage, I think," the brown smiled politely, "Thank you for the offer anyway."

One by one, the dragons around him nodded once, in quiet acknowledgement of his decision. Then they took off, each heading in different directions. Cynder thought that they were going home. That was where they should be going, right? It's already night time… She wondered what "home" was like.

"Come with me," Cutodiel said, leaving no room for argument. Cynder nodded numbly.

There were no other options she could choose to take at this moment, Cynder knew. So she followed him, not knowing what else to do, where he might lead her.

_I hope I won't live to regret this._


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Okay, this is just going to be a short note. I just wanted to say that despite it being the holidays and all and thus I should have had a lot more time to write than I would after school starts (no, mine hasn't started yet, I have another week of holidays after this), somehow I didn't find all that much extra time to write… Argh, I procrastinate too much, I'm afraid. /:**

**Anyway, enjoy (: And sorry for the long wait. Haha. I'll try to update as often as I can D': Bleargh I should stop promising to update more often; since I never do so anyway. /: Gah, FFN, please stop editing out my 'emoticons' thank you!**

* * *

Chapter 6

The first few days passed by uneventfully.

Spyro did not know whether he should be glad for the respite. On one paw, he supposed this recent quiet in the lands beyond the city _could_ mean that Malefor's influence had begun to fade away, loosening his unrelenting grip on the land (he was not about to start making uninformed guesses based on hopes and intuition alone; after all, he would not have survived all those years if he had, and he saw no reason to start now). That was something to be glad about, was it not?

Or this could also be the calm before the storm just across the horizon, gathering strength to tear the land apart, a different kind of chaos from that he was most familiar with, and up till now, also most often acquainted with.

He would not put it past luck to dish out something like that though, a challenge to test his resolve and strength like so many others he had been through.

On the other paw, Terrador was not a bad companion to undertake a long and arduous journey with exactly; he knew when to be quiet and when to talk and what to say when he did, which was more than could be said for a few other dragons they both knew so well.

Over time, the two of them managed to come to a silent arrangement; in the day Terrador would take on the role of navigator, leading them on while he would follow without a word. At night, the purple dragon would gather wood for fire on his watch, while Terrador set up camp, before they settled down to rest, or to sleep, whichever caught their fancy. And when they stopped for breaks, they would take turns to hunt. It was not a perfect arrangement, but Spyro could find no faults with it. It _was_ the most appropriate, given the circumstances.

It did not mean that he was comfortable with it all the time though.

_Times such as now, _the purple thought wryly as they settled down for the night after another day of flying in search, in vain.

It was awkward, just the two of them sitting together, alone.

Terrador hazarded a look at the young purple dragon, who was staring into the fire even now, as though he could see something inside. He wondered what he was looking at.

"Do you see something, young one?" The Earth Guardian attempted to start a conversation again.

"Hmm," the purple dragon lifted his eyes to meet his, mysterious amethyst to sturdy earth brown.

"You don't want to ruin your sight by staring at one bright spot too long," this attempt at a conversation was starting to feel awfully one-sided.

"Perhaps not," Spyro agreed, "But just how much do you know of what I actually want? Just how much do you know about me?"

"I don't know much." Terrador was brutally honest. Spyro was surprised, but he tried not to let that show. He had expected some half-hearted attempt on the Guardian's part to defend himself, but Terrador did nothing of the sort. Instead, the green elder continued, "And I do want to know. But how can I, if you refuse to tell me?"

It was then that Spyro realized just how little he knew of Terrador. The latter was the Earth Guardian, yes; he used to stay at the Temple but had now moved to Warfang, yes; he was, still is, his mentor, yes; but other than that, he knew… next to nothing.

And just how much did he know about the other guardians, the only dragons he really had cause to call family? Perhaps more for Ignitus, perhaps even less for Cyril and Volteer.

It was a pitiful summation of his life until now.

"Can you tell me?" Terrador decided to plunge on and hope for the best, since he had already put himself into a difficult position.

The purple looked embarrassed suddenly, and Terrador realized just how awkward this "conversation" had become. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to—" Terrador hurriedly put in, in an attempt to make up for what he saw as a slip of his tongue, before Spyro cut in with that soft, almost whispery voice that he always used in any conversation since he got back to Warfang.

"I will consider," he paused, and the air rushed out of Terrador all at once in a silent hymn of relief. The Earth Guardian had not even known that he had been holding his breath all this while. He had not expected Spyro to reply really.

The purple opened his mouth again, as though he wanted to say something else. Terrador waited patiently for him to speak whatever was on his mind. Slight disappointment washed over him when Spyro snapped it shut again without saying anything, and the faint sense of camaraderie he had felt was obliterated in an instant.

"It's late," Terrador tried to sound kind, "We should get some rest before we continue our search tomorrow."

The purple hesitated, before speaking again, in a voice hinged with trepidation, "Terrador? Do you think we'll ever find anything? Anyone?"

"Perhaps," the Guardian replied, thoughtful, "Or perhaps not. But it is a cause well worth all the effort we are expending on it, is it not?"

"Hmm," was Spyro's only reply.

It was a redundant question, and both of them knew it. The end they were hoping for, the light in the tunnel they wanted to find, it was the dragon race's only chance at survival.

It was the key to their salvation.

And it was something Terrador would give anything to attain.

* * *

"_Cynder?"_

_"Hmm?"_

"_Are you awake?"_

"_I am now," the black dragoness replied, lifting her head off the ground, a wry smile on her face, "What is it?"_

"_I'm just wondering… Where Ignitus is now, do you think he's sleeping under the same night sky as we are?"_

"_Night sky?" Cynder sounded sleepy again, like her mouth was stuffed full of wool, "What do you mean?"_

"_Oh, I don't know. It's just that… Wherever he is now, I wonder if he can still see the same things as we do when he looks up. Whether he's thinking the same thing, whether he's trying to sleep too but failing to do so… The stars, the various constellations, the moon in her ever-changing phases, the sun in the day…" the purple's voice sounded light, but Cynder knew that his heart was anything but._

_Picking herself up from where she lain, she padded over to him, "You insomniac. I see. Look up now."_

_The purple dragon turned to her, "What?"_

_She swatted him lightly with her tail blade, "Don't ask. Look up."_

_Spyro obediently did as he was told._

"_What do you see?"_

"_Huh?"_

"_Don't think about it too much. Just tell me what comes to your mind naturally."_

"_Umm, I see the stars? Clouds?" Spyro squinted._

_Cynder smirked, "A very astute observation, Spyro."_

"_Okay okay. Let me try again."_

_He paused. _

_Cynder smiled sweetly at him, the gentle uplifting of her lips bringing to life the colour of her eyes, "Now?"_

"_Hush."_

_Cynder clammed up, but not before sticking her tongue out at him in a comical fashion. He saw it all out of the corner of his eye, and smirked without turning his face to her._

_Trying his utmost to concentrate, Spyro stared upwards, and found almost peace within himself as he contemplated the situation. To be able to spare this amount of time to stare into nothingness, it was luxury in itself. _

You're looking out for us, aren't you? _The purple dragon found himself thinking, _from wherever you are. You won't leave us behind like this.

_He looked to Cynder for silent confirmation. But the black dragoness was already asleep, her head on her paws, her tail curled around her. Spyro smiled._

"_Sweet dreams, Cynder," he laughed softly, lying down by her side, unfurling one wing only to drape it across her snoozing form, "Thank you."_

* * *

The purple's eyes flew wide open, and he leapt to his feet in one fluid fashion, his tail lashing in wild arcs, his wings snapping open to their full length in an attempt at intimidation, alert and ready to defend himself.

But there was nothing to defend himself against. Except…

A pair of sedate brown eyes tilted towards him, and Spyro noted the dark green form which almost blended in with the night, a stark contrast against the amethyst of his own scales. "Nightmare?" Terrador eyed him, curiously and surprised.

"Oh, it's just you," Spyro slumped back down onto the ground on his haunches, his wingtips brushing the cool earth, the adrenaline all drained out of him at once.

"Yes, it's just me," the Earth Guardian sounded almost amused, "You were expecting someone else?"

Spyro did not take the bait. Terrador sighed.

"If there is something on your mind, you can always talk to me, you know," Terrador hesitated, then continued, "You could have talked to anyone of us, Cyril, or Volteer, or even me. We will always be there for you."

Spyro heard the conviction in his voice, but he could not help feeling as though it was simply a hollow promise. One which could be easily teased apart like tendrils of mist, only to evaporate in the early dawn light. He wanted to believe it, and he might even have, had he not heard it before.

_First Ignitus, then Cynder. Put them away. All of them away._

"Don't make a promise you can't keep," Spyro huffed, noting to himself the soft plumes of smoke emerging from his nostrils, which drifted away on the night air.

Terrador suddenly straightened, as though in surprise.

"No, really—" Spyro shook his head, wanting to elaborate, when Terrador shot him a look which clearly said, _quiet._

And that was when Spyro realized that something was wrong. _What is it?_ The question lay at the tip of his tongue, urgent, begging for his voice to lend it weight, but Spyro stamped it down.

Terrador was an Earth dragon. He must be sensing something in the ground, some disturbance, maybe. The purple dragon closed his eyes and concentrated. Earth had never been his most adept element.

He felt faint tremors. In his mind's eye, he was slowly building up a silent image. There was no need for a commentary; the earth told him everything he needed to know in quiet whispers, a story of sorts, in not so many words. There were trees ringing the clearing, then there were sparrows taking refuge for the night on those branches; there was an empty tree hole calling out to be filled, to be made a cozy nesting site lined with soft down feathers for shelter and comfort... A fleeting presence touched his, and Spyro's eyes flew open, all traces of concentration broken by a single mental nudge.

A pair of chestnut eyes met his, and in an instant, Spyro knew what to do. Silently, he slid to the Guardian's side, pressing his back against the elder's, feeling their wings chafe against each other's.

_Quiet._

It was then that Spyro realized just how quiet it had become in that little clearing, how the crickets had stopped chirping, how the birds were all still with nary the fluttering of a feather, how even the cicadas have retreated, leaving tomb-like silence in their wake.

_Peace._

"We are not alone," Terrador's voice drifted to him, soft as the kiss of a snowflake drifting and landing onto his snout, only to melt away, leaving a spot of coolness and liquefied comfort on his scales where it touched.

_Listen._

Suddenly, Spyro knew why he had been startled to wakefulness, only to meet Terrador's eyes muted by the gloom. It had not been the abrupt ending of a dream, the rendering of a nightmare.

Unconsciously, he had felt whatever Terrador had.

_They're here._

A cold wind blew past Spyro, lingering where it touched his facial scales, and he stiffened.

_Something is wrong._

He felt Terrador arch his back against his, and he knew he felt it too. Cold foreboding settled hard in the pit of his stomach.

_We cannot fight what we cannot see._

Spyro felt the slightest tingle of moving air, of a disturbance above the ground, seeking him, seeking them—

_No, we can._

"Terrador!" He snapped to attention sharply, and before he had even registered what _anything_ meant, the purple had pushed the Guardian to one side, just as an arrow arced past them, missing Terrador's shoulder by the slightest inch. Another shot out from the opposite direction, followed by a second, a third, a fourth.

But the time, the Earth Guardian was ready. He ducked and twisted, and once even used his hardened tail blade to redirect the arrow, such that it shot clear over his head.

_To hell with subtlety._ "Who are you! Show yourselves!" Spyro roared, his muscles all tensed up and ready for fight or flight.

Terrador looked startled for the swiftest moment, before his expression shifted again, his features rearranging themselves to form a smooth, impenetrable mask, his eyes issuing a challenge.

Like many other dragons of the Earth element, Terrador had seen no need to light a fire on his watch – after all, his element would warn him of any encroaching danger long before they could come anywhere close, and light from the fire could draw as much unwanted attention as it could ward off – but he had neglected the fact that if their opponent did not set foot on the earth, as demonstrated by a single projectile designed to maim or kill, he would be far more vulnerable. He could be as good as blind, if he could not see in the dark.

It had been far too long since Terrador last undertaken a journey like this, a self-imposed mission with only one other dragon as company, and much as he hated to admit it, he had long since forgotten some of the little details involved, the caution required.

Such forgetfulness could get them killed.

And suddenly, all around them, torches were lit, rendering the little clearing bright as day.

Spyro flinched. Terrador hissed sharply.

One by one, dragons stepped out from where they had hidden, cold-eyed, each holding a torch in one paw like sentinels standing guard, trying to judge their character.

Neither of them could believe it. They had been surrounded without them even noticing. The fight was over before it had even started.

* * *

"It worked?"

"It worked well," Celyn reported once more, and Diasmere smiled.

It was not a friendly smile.

"Your parents taught you well," he paused for effect, to make sure that his words sank in, and then continued, "You have a gift, Celyn."

The dragoness did not bother to look up, as though she already knew what was coming next. He smiled. He knew he had ruffled her. Of course, everything had a price, and if he was to praise her, there had to be strings attached. No?

"Wouldn't you say that your sister would have had the same gift?" His voice was silky smooth, betraying no hint of emotion. He watched as Celyn flinched slightly, and smirked.

"Cedryn?" Her voice was tight when she replied, and his smile grew wider, "Why do you ask?"

_Deflecting a question with another._ He was already familiar with her methods by now.

"All of us had thought her to be mad," Diasmere shrugged and tried to seem nonchalant, "But what if her madness was simply an outward show of her gift?

"What if she had been talented the way you are, if not more?"

Celyn froze. Panic spiked in those emerald green eyes, but it passed so quickly that Diasmere wondered if he had seen correctly.

"It's always been said that the… talent which runs in your family was a result of being touched by convexity, is it not?" He pushed.

"Yes," Celyn affirmed, wary.

"What if your family line had received more than just one touch? What if most of you had inherited only the slightest bit of your ancestor's talent, but along the way, some of you inherited more than just a bit?" Diasmere paused, and then fixed her with his signature inquiring stare.

"I wouldn't know," Celyn lied, trying to look unruffled by his 'casual' comment, "But I'm all that you have left, wouldn't you agree? Now that Cedryn is dead, and my parents too."

"That's true," Diasmere agreed. Then he smiled again and changed the topic, "The… visitors are secured?"

"Last I saw them, they were," Celyn nodded, and Diasmere noticed the slightest edge of relief in her voice, "But I suppose I could check again."

_Something I cannot refuse without a valid reason._ He was impressed by her tenacity. She was still hiding something from him, but he supposed he could let it slide for now. It was so much more fun, to watch his prey squirm as he closed in for the kill than to end things so swiftly.

"You may go," Diasmere inclined his head gracefully, "Oh, and Celyn?"

"Yes?"

"You do know that I love you. Right?"

Panic flooded her system, and this time, there was no hiding it. Diasmere was still smiling, and Celyn knew with a sinking feeling, that she had lost.

"I do," his mate nodded, and was obligated to return his smile with a shaky one of her own.

* * *

Even until now, Spyro did not understand how such a large group of people could have evaded his attention. Unless they were floating above the ground, but he did not see how they could have done that. Surely they would have left behind more signs.

At any rate, he did not see how they could have been floating above ground; dragon wings had never been made for hovering for long periods of time, and all that dense foliage meant that flying should have nigh impossible.

Though if it had been just him, perhaps he would have been less surprised.

But judging by the stunned look on the Earth Guardian's face as they were caught off-guard, the purple dragon knew that he had not detected anything either.

Which led to their current predicament.

Though all in all, Spyro supposed that things could have been worse. They could have been attacked on the spot, or they could have been treated as trespassers and thrown into jail.

But no. Instead, they had been taken to this room, and asked to rest for a moment, before the Clan leader called them in for breakfast and a chat, to see what they could do for them, as they were told.

What was more, they had gotten what they came for. There _were _other dragons still living outside of Warfang, and that, if not anything else, was worth celebrating over.

"Right," Terrador grunted and turned to the purple dragon, "So, what do you think?"

"That things could have been worse," Spyro replied slowly, "Though it's really quite strange that they would give us free rein of the place this way. This whole situation is almost… surreal." He, for one, had not quite gotten over the shock that their quest could have ended so quickly. It seemed almost… too easy, and that made him _uneasy_.

The Earth guardian nodded, and then chuckled, "Interesting to know. Though to be honest, I had meant to ask you what you thought of this place."

The purple dragon blinked, and turned to look around the room.

It was large and sparsely furnished, with cushions strewn around randomly, giving it an airy feeling. From where he stood, he could see a balcony to his left, when the wind blew the curtains away, to reveal elegantly carved balustrades with pots of snowdrops placed around, pure white against the wash of cream.

On the wall to his right was a simple picture, carefully framed and hung, and then there was a four-poster bed occupying one side of the room, opposite a large mahogany bookshelf.

"The decorations are simple, basic, yet tastefully done," the purple shrugged, "There's elegance in simplicity, I guess." Terrador had never before struck him as the type who appreciated indoor furnishings.

The earth dragon laughed. Spyro looked to him, confused.

Picking his way gingerly across the room, careful not to step on any of the cushions in case he lost his footing, Terrador pulled open the curtains and the cold night winds blew into the room, "Come here, will you?"

Spyro strode forward to stand beside him, and the Earth Guardian pointed a claw into the distance, "Can you see what that is?"

He squinted, and when he realized what it was he was looking at, hissed in surprise, "It's the entrance of the village! Lit with torches, with sentries guarding it… I had no idea it was so close!"

"Indeed," Terrador laughed, "Do you remember how they took us here?"

As the purple dragon shook his head to indicate no, the Earth Guardian smiled, "They did not see the need to bind our paws, they simply made us follow two dragons in front. Remember now?"

_Oh, yes._ Now that Terrador mentioned it, he did. "I suppose…" the purple dragon frowned, and casted another uneasy glance towards the village entrance.

"What do you think they're trying to do then?" Terrador sat down on his haunches primly, and Spyro copied his action.

Their host could have put them in a room with a window facing the opposite direction, or even in jail, but he had chosen not to. Instead, he had provided them with escorts, a room on the second floor of an impressive building with elegant architecture, and time to rest.

If he had wanted to hurt them, he could have. But he did not.

"It's almost like they trust us not to leave, or to feel threatened," Spyro frowned, as he voiced his thoughts out loud, "Or they are trying to gain our trust. But for what?"

"Correct," Terrador nodded, "But do you remember how they shot arrows at us?"

"Yes," Spyro huffed, "They shot at us, but not continuously. I think they were simply trying to test our defenses and decide who we were. Though I think I gave the game away with the colour of my scales."

Then he paused, as realization hit him.

"I think there's something he wants from us," the purple dragon spoke quietly, "I think there's something this Clan leader wants, and he feels that he could make a fair trade with us."

"Very good," Terrador's voice rumbled with approval, and Spyro was surprised to realize that he was actually happy to hear those words.

"If there's nothing we wanted, if we were simply trespassers who had wandered into occupied territory, the first thing on our mind would have been escape," Terrador continued, "And whoever we are dealing with, he knows that well. He even gave us plenty of chances to escape and run away; after all, there would be no point keeping two extra dragons here needlessly, we would be extra mouths they have to feed, and powerful enemies to make." Here, he gestured vaguely at Spyro's scales, and the latter understood.

"But we didn't. We stayed, and he welcomed us in here," Terrador's voice had a hard edge to it which startled Spyro somewhat, "and trapped us without conflict and violence."

"But we can't leave, because we also have unfinished business to deal with here," Spyro finished for him, and the Earth dragon gave him one sharp, tight nod.

"Yes," Terrador's voice was strangely loud, "We can't. And you can come in now."

The purple dragon jumped a little, _What?_

In the silence that ensued, Spyro suddenly felt a jolt at the edge of his consciousness, and was startled to find out that it was another person's presence he was detecting.

Standing outside the door.

_Ancestors. _Just how much of their conversation had she heard?

The door swung inwards, and a cream coloured dragoness entered, her scales the colour of clouds in the sky located further away from the sun at sunset.

"Hello," she spoke, and then she smiled.

It was not a friendly smile.

* * *

_The black dragoness found herself in a black void, an empty space, and darkness stretching as far as the eye could see and beyond, she was sure. _

Someone will meet you there, _she remembered the old dragon saying, the one who called himself the Chronicler, _you will know her when she shows up. Be patient.

_She wondered how long that would take._

_She wondered, until at last she saw a tiny pinprick of white in the distance, almost imperceptible. Had she not been looking for it, she would never have seen it. That curious floating bauble of something like light and hope spurred her on, lending her feet wings such that she practically flew towards it, her paws silent where they landed, on a substance which was not solid, yet not liquid._

_As she ran, the pinprick grew larger and brighter. That was the only indication she had at all of her progress in this dark and empty place without any prominent landmarks. _Light, _she thought. She was almost certain. Such a strange drop of colour in this place of nothingness, as though it had been strategically placed to lure her in…_

_As she got closer and closer, she saw to her surprise, that the light was not free-floating, as she previously thought it to be. Rather, there was someone there, holding it up where she could see._

"_You're Cedryn?" the strange creature asked._

_The black dragoness frowned._

"_Yes, I am," she answered dutifully all the same, looking askance at the creature who addressed her. The latter resembled an ape roughly, though Cedryn was pretty sure she was not one of them. She was of slighter build. Her paws also looked softer, and she was dressed in this weird piece of material which hung off her shoulders. Apes did not wear pieces of cloth like that._

"_My name is Cara," the ape-like creature smiled, "Have you seen my species around before?"_

"_No," Cedryn frowned, and shook her head._

"_Figures. I don't think you have people like me where you came from, did you? Just like how from where I came from, your kind didn't exist," Cara smiled, "I'm what you would call a human."_

"_Human," Cedryn allowed the word to roll off her tongue, and experimented with the feeling of it in her mouth. _

"_Yup," Cara grinned, and nodded, "And you're to be my charge."_

"_Wait, what?" The black dragoness demanded, her green eyes flashing with incredulity, "I'm to be no such thing, I assure you. I can take care of myself just fine."_

"_I never said you couldn't," Cara was still smiling, as she led her forward, "But that was supposed to be my mission, at least that's what the guard told me when he allowed me to come in here."_

_Gradually, their surroundings brightened, and Cedryn found herself walking on solid ground, for which she was grateful for._

"_We're here," Cara smiled, as she raised her furless paw and swept it in front of her proudly, like she owned the place. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Cedryn smiled too._

_They were not alone._

_Other strange creatures lived here too, Cedryn realized, as she watched jellyfish floating around, along with other nameless creatures. There were large ones, and then there were small ones, and the black dragoness suddenly felt apprehension assail her, wondering whether they would bite, or not._

_Stars surrounded them, and Cedryn wondered just how high up they were. Had she died and her spirit drifted all the way up to the sky and beyond? How did that happen?_

_In this unearthly place, Cara was not the only strange creature around, it seemed._

_Yet, even in her discomfiture, Cedryn realized that she felt somehow… welcome, for the lack of a better word. Like she belonged here. But she was quite sure that she had never been here before._

Not quite true,_ the voice in her head sounded again, and her eyes widened as realization hit, _you've been here before. Often, at night, when you sleep. But always alone.

_At least, until now. Somehow, death saw fit to give her a companion._

"_What is this place called?" Cedryn did not know whether to be happy or sad if the truth was the same as what she suspected it to be, and she needed, no, wanted, confirmation. Even though she knew in her heart that she was right._

"_Where I came from, we call it Hell," Cara's voice drifted to her ears, barely louder than a whisper, "But I've met other dragons like you. They called it Converse-something."_

"_Convexity?" Cedryn tried, apprehensively._

"_Ah, yes!" Cara responded happily, "How did you ever figure that out?"_

**Author's Note (cont.): Now, this had been an interesting chapter to write, to say the least…**

**I had the final scene planned for some time now… I'm glad I finally got around to it, heh.**

**Yes, I took liberties and decided to throw bits of mythology together with Convexity. I seem to be doing that a lot lately… Taking liberties, I mean. But no one ever said that either could have only one entrance right? :P**

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter! ^^ Review if you want to, I like reviews, though personally I've never been a good reviewer, so I haven't been reviewing other stories as much as I should have I guess… Heehee. Sorry about that )':  
**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Andddd... Here we are :D  
A big hand to those who reviewed and are still hanging on to this story. Your reviews and efforts are much appreciated :D I hope I don't disappoint with this chapter ^^**

**Sorry for being gone so long D: I was busy, with school and... other stuff, but I guess that's no longer a valid excuse seeing as how I've evidently overused it But please enjoy this chapter and comment, whichever catches your fancy XD**

* * *

Chapter 7:

_She was reduced to waiting tersely once more, with bated breath._

_"You're here," that voice drifted to being from somewhere behind her again, and Cynder whirled around in a hurry, her eyes flashing green, a sharp contrast to the gloom around her. _

_Nothing. She found herself peering at nothing but darkness which stretched on and on and..._

_She hated having to wait for something to happen. It placed her at a disadvantageous position. Worse still, she hated not knowing what she was waiting for. And she had been waiting for long enough._

_"Who are you!" The black dragoness screamed, in an attempt to dispel the oppressive silence. Like viscous liquid pushed against her, gave way reluctantly, and then bounced back seamlessly. Her breath came in ragged gasps. It did not seem to be air she was breathing, and that alone was enough to make her feel unbalanced. This whole place was making her scales itch in places she could not fathom._

_Laughter, almost too sweet, showered down upon her from above, and something brushed against her folded wings. A blast of cold air assaulted her from behind, and she shrieked, diving to the side. _

_Silence fell once more in its entirety, and she huffed. It was almost unnerving, how fast sound could fade away from this place._

_"Show yourself already," she hissed through clenched teeth, eyes darting wildly around, challenging someone, anyone, to attack her._

_"Oh, but I'm right here. Standing in front of you. I always have been," the voice taunted now, whispering into her ear frill. She snarled, twisting her body to the side and snapping her head backwards, spitting a glob of poison with, what she hoped, was accuracy. _

_No cry of pain reached her. Her head thudded against her ribs. Her eyes narrowed with frustration. How could she have missed? She could have sworn that her aim was true. It must have been. That voice was so close... How could its owner have ducked out of way in time at all?_

_"Where we are now, the unseen reigns," it hissed at her from behind, and once more she spun with deadly speed, her tailblade cutting the air with one swift, deft stroke. She caught nothing._

_"You know who I am," it rang out from the darkness, radiating from her left. She felt something cold brush past her flanks, and this time, she screamed, throwing herself to the side once more, her claws curling and uncurling, digging into the soft pads of her feet, drawing short, sharp bursts of pain. How... How could it have come so close to her without her noticing? Her blood ran cold through her veins, and she forced herself to stay calm, to keep her fear from bubbling to the surface and breaking through her calm exterior..._

_"You know me better than you know yourself," it came to her now, saccharine sweet, but lacking in warmth. It chilled her, to hear the twisted innocence in those words. It felt so wrongly matched... Cynder shivered, as the temperature around her plummeted, her breath tracing tendrils of gray as it reached outwards with deformed claws and dissipated, incomplete._

_"Why can't you see me?" The sweetness that reached her now was tainted by frustration and something older, deeper, darker. Something which demanded her attention, craved her touch, and Cynder shook her head to clear her thoughts, snarling at herself for getting distracted._

_"I'm disappointed, Cynder." Like fire burning low, the tempest dropping in strength, it sighed, soft as a breeze kissing her cheeks, "I had thought you were ready._

_"But it looks like I thought wrong."_

_Somehow those words scared her more than anything else, dragging at her consciousness, twisting itself into thin threads which grabbed at her mind. She drew back and reared, front paws swatting at nothing tangible._

_"You won't be able to get at me, Cynder," now imperceptibly calm, the voice huffed, and then sneered, "You're here, at the heart of my domain. You can't strike back, not in my place of power. _You're powerless here."

_"No!" Something in Cynder snapped, and icy torrents of fear and anger alike coursed through her body like winter frost. Her heart shriveled under the pressure and skipped a beat. Her limbs were tingling, and there was a click as her mind began shutting down._

_"You are," the voice snorted derisively, "and I would like nothing better than to keep you here with me, if only to argue this point, but it seems that your time here is up._

_"Go now," it commanded, and something akin to heat flared under her paws. The sudden, unexpected sensation unlocked her senses once more, and Cynder suddenly found the power to breathe again._

_"I will let you go for now. But come find me," it commanded, "Find me, Cynder. And then maybe you can find the answers which you seek."_

_"I will be waiting for you, right here."_

* * *

Her eyes snapped wide open, as she screamed and kicked the blankets off with her feet.

Something tumbled off her bed with a resounding crash, and Cynder scooted backwards, her jaw cracked open, poison bubbling in her throat, begging for release.

And found herself staring straight into a pair of brilliant amber eyes. Memories from the night before flooded back in, and she relaxed, groaning as she grabbed her head with both paws and her eyes scrunched shut, "It's you."

"Yes, it's me," Cutodiel sounded half amused and half worried, "Were you expecting anyone else?"

The black dragoness opened her mouth partly, as though to answer, before something flashed past in those green orbs, and she closed it again, choosing apparently to heed her own counsel instead. He sighed.

"I'm sorry if I startled you somewhat. But I didn't know that you took so strongly against having breakfast in bed," his voice was tinged with amusement, flavoured with a hint of irony.

Her jaw dropped open again, this time in shock. Cynder scooted over to the edge of her bed and peered down. There it was, a porcelain platter smashed to bits, the white stark against the woolly brown of the carpet, and the mess of yellow and red which looked suspiciously like egg and bacon. She covered her eyes with her paws and groaned again.

"I'm sorry. I guess I overreacted," the black dragoness dared to peek at him from behind her paws, cracking one eye open and fixing him with an apologetic stare. A tiny smile curled the corners of his muzzle, and he shook his head, "No it's fine."

He sat down on the bed, careful to keep a distance, for which Cynder was grateful for, "I take it that your night had not been as uneventful as mine?"

_The understatement of the century._ Cynder shook her head, but kept her mouth resolutely shut, her head pounding. Something told her that last night's encounter was not hers to share freely. Something told her that this was something she needed to keep to herself, something she needed to figure out on her own.

Something she was sure she did not want anyone else figuring out before she did. Though she knew not why.

Cutodiel stared at her with unblinking eyes, "Okay then."

Then he stood up and motioned for her to do the same, "I had taken the liberty to bring your breakfast up for you, since I had thought that you might appreciate being made to feel welcome."

"But now that-" Here his eyes flickered downwards, and Cynder winced, "- that's no longer an option, I guess we'll have to find something else downstairs. Follow me?"

The black dragoness saw no reason to refuse. She rose mutely from bed and carefully sidestepped the mess on the floor. Those stains would be a pain to get out from the carpet later on, she knew.

Cutodiel could not help a smile.

* * *

It was a beautiful morning. The sun's therapeutic rays warmed her scales, and she basked in its naked glory, thankful for the heat.

Something cold nudged her from within, and her heart skipped a beat once more. She stopped in her tracks, caught off guard, and for a moment, fear paralyzed her once more.

"Is something wrong?" Cutodiel turned back to stare at her, concerned.

"Nothing's wrong," Cynder shook her head, and told herself to stop being silly.

But it was useless, she knew. Something has changed her. Something has changed from last night.

She did not know if it was for the better, or for the worse.

The brown dragon did not believe her, she could just see it in his gaze, but by some power of will, he managed to refrain from asking despite the burning curiosity he must be feeling.

They continued walking.

Cutodiel led them past a copse of trees, until they came upon a small clearing. A clear, small stream ran through the centre, and Cynder found herself enveloped in peaceful silence. Not cold and sharp and threatening like the one she had found herself immersed in till but a short while ago, and she was grateful for the respite.

But she knew that that would not be her last encounter with that voice.

She was going back again, whether she liked it or not.

She hoped that she could put it off for as long as she could.

The brown dragon motioned for her to come to him, and Cynder padded over, only to find herself standing beside the stream. The water looked refreshingly cool, and a sudden shadow darted past, with only a flash of colour flickering off its streamlined body to mark its passing.

"Ever tried fish?" The brown dragon's voice rumbled from deep within his throat, with something it took Cynder a while to recognize as laughter.

"No. What's that?" Curious, she angled her face to face him again. The brown dragon's eyes glittered with mirth.

"Then let's get started shall we?"

He reached behind his back, and begun to unpack the strange package he had strapped onto his back when they left the place Cutodiel had called the _Adamantine Palace_ behind.

It was his home, he had told her, but it was also the village's only academy for the students. Though it was holidays now, so the whole place was empty, almost lonely, except for some students staying on the upper floors, those who would rather stay back than to go home. Cynder wondered why. What made them choose to stay? And what was that strange pulling which drew the rest unfailingly back to where they called home?

"Catch," Cutodiel's voice cut deeply into her reverie, and drew her back to reality just in time to snatch the long, wooden stick out of the air from where it had began its fall downwards.

"Nice catch," he nodded approvingly.

Cynder smiled back politely. She spared a glance out of the corner of her eye for the strange contraption now resting snugly in her jaws, watching how the light reflected crudely off the sharp metal on top, "What's this for?"

"To help us catch our breakfast," Cutodiel's voice sounded muffled, and she saw that he had picked the stick up with his jaws too, "Let me show you first."

She watched as he padded towards the river, to stand at an angle - which she soon realized - kept his shadow from falling onto the crystalline surface.

And there he stood erect, still, unmoving, his eyes biding her to keep quiet. So she contented herself with just watching in silence. Her jaws were already beginning to ache from clutching something so heavy for so long.

Something flashed in those clear depths again, but before she really registered anything, Cutodiel had moved into action. Faster than she had expected, he jerked his head fluidly downwards, and Cynder watched, both entranced and slightly repulsed, as red began to colour the crystal, before fanning slowly outwards to taint everywhere with a thin sheen of pink and the metallic smell of blood. Water splashed everywhere as the fish thrashed in its dying throes, but Cutodiel held resolutely on, and Cynder felt a brief flash of admiration his resilience. Already, her neck was aching in sympathy.

Soon, the splashing of water stopped sounding, though it left echoes in her mind, which took its time quieting down. Cutodiel lifted the spear out of the water, the fish skewered limply on its tip. Cynder's stomach churned. Now she knew what that reflective piece of metal was for.

"Your turn," the brown dragon placed the spear down onto the grass in front of her.

Mutely, she took up his previous position, standing like a sentry in front of the gates she was supposed to protect.

Another flash of colour. She did not allow herself to hesitate before plunging the murder weapon held in her jaws savagely downwards. The resistance which came afterwards was not unexpected, but stronger than she had thought it would be. Her neck ached with the effort of keeping still, but Cynder refused to be upstaged by a dragon she barely knew.

She was Cynder. She was an assassin. She was built to be the ultimate killing machine.

When she was certain that the fish was dead, she lifted the spear clear of the water, watching as the load on its end flopped, and fixed her with one glassy eye.

She glared resolutely back, half expecting it to challenge her.

No response.

"Not bad," the brown dragon fixed her with an admiring glance and poked the fish with a claw. It stayed resolutely still.

"Are we done here?" Cynder tipped her head to the side in query.

"Almost," sharp ivory teeth locked around the spear again, as the brown dragon heaved it up in his jaws once more, "did you really think that two fishes would feed two hungry dragons?"

Cynder grimaced. Her neck was going to sore and stiff for days to come.

* * *

The fish tasted surprisingly good.

Cynder had to admit, it was worth the effort she had put into catching it, and then into slicing the scales clean off the meat. And that of putting up with the smell of dead fish, which had not been particularly pleasing to her nose.

Cutodiel watched her silently. His fish stayed untouched, in a plate in front of him.

And then he spoke, "You remind me of someone."

The revelation slammed into her hard, like a wall of bricks being pushed into her face. Her head jerked upwards, the fish all forgotten, "What?"

Cutodiel blinked, surprised, and his sight focused on her face sharply. Evidently, he had not been expecting an answer.

"You know what? It's nothing. I'm over thinking things," he shook his head hard, and his gaze slid away from her face, downwards. He prodded his fish listlessly, and took a tentative bite out of it. Then he looked up again.

"Do you like it here?" his voice was rough around the edges, and it grated against her hearing.

"That's... unexpected," she narrowed her eyes at him, emerald green sharp against the black that were her scales.

He did not meet her eyes. Glancing off sideways, he kept his voice level, "You're my guest. While you're here, you're under my protection. No one can hurt you. You have my word."

"And what's that worth?" the gears in her brain were already whirring to life, spinning frantically to keep up with the direction this conversation was taking. _Think, _she huffed inwardly, _what are your options? What bargaining chip do you have?_

Her mind drew a blank.

"It's worth whatever you think it is," he replied seamlessly, without missing a beat, "But in return, I need something from you."

"And what would that be?" Cynder's voice was pitched low, part hostile, part foreign, and part confused.

"Your trust," here, his eyes snapped back onto her face suddenly, and she blinked. That brilliant amber... it seared itself into her mind, and locked itself deep within, alongside the voice which haunted her from last night, "I can hurt you. But I won't."

Cynder lowered her head to her plate. When she spoke again, it was with resignation, "You know what? I expected that."

Her gaze led off somewhere far away, her voice distant, "You're different from everyone else I've met so far."

He acknowledged her statement with a polite inclination of his head, "Yes."

Cynder got out of her seat and moved to stand beside the window. Sunlight bathed her face with its golden warmth, but it did not touch within. Her blood remained cold, like liquid ice flowing through her veins, "I can't leave this place now, can I?" _Adamantine palace. _It was all an elaborate ruse. And like unsuspecting prey, she had fallen right into its iron grasp, a trap she could not hope to escape.

"Unless I choose to let you go," Cutodiel's voice came from directly behind her, but this time, she did not allow herself to be surprised.

"Then I don't have a choice can I?"

"In life, there are always choices," his demeanor softened, his voice gentle, "But promise me you won't try to leave."

"I won't," Cynder closed her eyes. Inky darkness swirled behind her eyelids and met her all around, "I won't try to leave. I give you my promise. For whatever it's worth."

Her words met with silence. And then, the faintest wisp of a voice speaking. "Thank you," she thought she heard, but it was faint like the summer wind, and she was not sure.

The marble was cold under her feet, cold as her heart, and it seeped into her innards.

And for the first time in her life, she tasted loss and calm acceptance in an unsettling muddle. It was cold, and viscous, and stuck on the walls of her throat, hard to contemplate, and even harder to swallow.

"You're welcome," she turned, and forced herself to smile as her words met with empty air.

She was no longer predator. Here, she was prey. She was on the menu. The walls were closing in on her, her choices shutting like doors in her face, one by one, resounding echoes in her mind emanating loss.

And for the second time in a row, she tasted the metallic iron taste of fear.


End file.
